Tonight Is for Bad Girls
by DottieP
Summary: Rizzoli & Isles crossover, AU for Quinntana Week. Santana is a cop with Jane; Maura and Jane are together. Maura introduces Santana to a friend from high school, Quinn.


**Tonight Is for Bad Girls**

**Rating**: T

**Pairing**: Quinn/Santana

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything yada yada yada.

**Summary**: Rizzoli & Isles crossover, AU for Quinntana Week. Santana is a cop with Jane; Maura and Jane are together. Maura introduces Santana to a friend from high school, Quinn.

**Author's Note**: The title would seem to suggest R or NC-17, right? Yeah…nope. Also, this is my first (and, likely, last) crossover fic.

Jane sat on her usual bar stool with her usual pint of beer. She traced the lip of the glass with her finger, enjoying the near silence in the typically crowded bar. A bump to the shoulder broke her from her reverie. "Still drinking that shitty Sam Adams, Rizzoli?" Jane glanced up into the beaming grin of her best friend.

"Well, we all can't be as fancy with our beer as you, Lopez." Santana sat down next to her friend on her usual bar stool and ordered her usual drink. "Declaration, please." Jane smiled at her friend and nudged her playfully. "So, bust anyone today?"

"Nah, it was slow. I'm still working on that huge case from last month," Santana replied, shaking her head. "I think I can trace most of the coke back to Mexico and one of the cartels, but…"

"Dead ends at every turn?" Jane finished for her. Santana nodded as she took a sip of her beer, enjoying the tingly feeling of the hops coating her tongue.

"It's really pissing me off, too. How about you? What was the body count today?" Santana asked, swiftly changing the subject.

"Same as you—quiet. I'm waiting to get an autopsy report for that stabbing case from a few days ago, so I've been bored today."

"Is Doc leaving you hanging?" Santana teased. This earned her a light smack on the arm.

"No, asshole," she paused, looking passed Santana. "Speaking of who…" Maura was then behind Santana, dressed in a tailored suit and, what Santana thought were, $800 high heels.

"Whom," Maura corrected and then smiled fondly at Jane as walked to the empty bar stool. She dragged a hand along Jane's upper back, at which Santana smiled. _So freaking charming_, Santana thought, though out of amicable envy rather than animosity.

"Good afternoon, Santana," Maura said as she leaned forward and looked passed Jane to her friend.

"Hey, Maura. How is it down in the morgue? I hear you won't give this one," Santana elbowed Jane, "an autopsy report. She's been bitching about it since I sat down."

"Hey!" Jane shouted, glaring at Santana before quickly turning to face. "Baby, you know that isn't true." Maura laughed and patted Jane's cheek, which still held a panicked expression.

"I know, honey. And, no, Santana, I did not perform any new autopsies. I was actually finishing that report for Jane." Maura paused and pointedly placed her purse on the stool next to her. Jane and Santana watched with curiosity.

"Expecting someone else?" Jane asked softly. Maura simply nodded while ordering her glass of pinot noir. Santana tapped Jane and knitted her brows to silently ask what was going on; Jane just shook her head.

"So, Santana, are you still working those long hours or have you decided to cut back?" Maura inquired in her usual pleasant tone.

Before Santana could answer, Jane interjected, "What she means is, are you acting like I used to..."

Maura laughed and Santana joined her. "Yes, I'm striving to become you; it's what I dream about every day," Santana joked.

"We need to get you a girl," Jane replied and good-naturedly bumped her friend's shoulder. At that moment, they heard the door to the bar close and Jane peered over Santana's head to see who would be there at this time of day. "Whoa," Jane whispered as she watched the woman walk towards them.

Santana immediately turned her head and echoed her friend's sentiment. "Whoa is right," she agreed in a hushed tone. Even if she wanted to, Santana couldn't tear her eyes away from this woman—the black dress that hugged every delicious curve, the dangerous looking heels, the wavy, almost disheveled hair, and those eyes. Santana caught herself sighing as the woman approached and she could see those pools of hazel-green up close.

The stranger strolled beyond both drooling police officers. "Hi, Maura. So good to see you." The two women embraced like old friends. "Quinn, I'm so glad that you could make it. It's been too long," Maura responded as pulled out of the hug.

"It has," Quinn said and smiled. Maura took her by the upper arm to direct her towards the now-composed cops. "Quinn, this is Jane" and Jane extended her hand, shook Quinn's, and nodded a "hello." "And," Maura began as she walked Quinn passed Jane, "this is Santana, her friend." The two new acquaintances shook hands while both beaming at each other. "Hi," Quinn said softly, her eyes never leaving Santana's. "Hey," Santana replied in the same whispered tone. Jane and Maura looked on in fascination as something—what, they weren't sure—was transpiring before them. Maura nudged Jane before she returned to her seat and grinned.

Jane turned towards Maura. "You planned this?" Jane whispered through gritted teeth, more out of shock than anything. The smile stayed plastered on Maura's face and all she did was shrug before returning to her wine.

"So, how do you know Maura?" Santana asked while gesturing for Quinn to sit down next to her.

"We went to high school together." Quinn then flagged down the bartender. "Dalmore. Neat." Santana simply gave her a small smile, an acknowledgement at Quinn's excellent taste in scotch.

"A proud graduate of Our Lady of the Chastity Belt," Santana teased. Maura laughed at this. The two women turned to face her, both having completely forgotten that they weren't alone. "That one wouldn't know a chastity belt if…" Maura paused, not knowing how to finished that. She scrunched her brow in thought.

"If she was wearing one?" Jane suggested, trying to help her girlfriend out. (Maura was trying with the whole humor thing; she really was.)

"Oh really?" Santana asked playfully, arching an eyebrow for emphasis as she returned her attention to Quinn.

"Yes, thank you for that Maura," Quinn replied with a hint of embarrassment in her voice. Returning her gaze to Santana, she lowered her voice slightly and continued, "I was too busy shocking the nuns to even learn the word chastity." Santana almost visibly gulped at the half, rather flirtatious smile that followed this confession.

Santana quickly regained her composure only to be teased once again as she watched Quinn's lips slide over the edge of her glass to sip her scotch. She cleared her throat and quipped, "The resident bad girl, then?"

Maura heard this and started laughing again. "You don't know the half of it. Why don't you share some of your stories, Quinn? Like the time that you came back from summer break for our senior year with pink hair and a nose ring."

Santana beamed at this, thoroughly enjoying where this conversation was headed. And, though she had just met this intriguing woman, she wanted to know everything about her. Santana turned on her bar stool to fully face Quinn; her knee brushed Quinn's thigh as she did. "Sorry," Santana said, just above a whisper. "S'ok," Quinn answered in a breathy voice as she gently rubbed Santana's offending knee. She allowed her hand to linger there; her thumb lightly grazed over the inside of Santana's knee. They were frozen—a delicate touch on a jean-clad knee and eyes locked. Ambient noises drifted away. They were unaware of two heads turned in their direction, watching with wonder at what might happen next.

Jane cleared her throat, jolting the mesmerized women back to the reality of the bar and their friends. "So what's this about pink hair?" Maura smacked Jane on the shoulder, not for the question but the interruption. "Leave them alone," Maura hissed. Jane snapped her around and with a confused expression, mouthed "What?" to her girlfriend.

Santana leaned against the bar and gave Quinn a half-smile—almost a smirk—and echoed Jane's sentiment. "Yeah, I want to hear about this pink hair. I like bad girls." Santana tacked on a wink at the end.

"_Reformed_ bad girl," Quinn corrected with a small grin.

"Well, the bad girl really never goes away, does she?" Santana teased.

Quinn leaned forward slightly, catching Santana in a pointed gaze. "You're right; she never goes away entirely."

Santana licked her lips instinctively at the thought. "So…what career path does a reformed bad girl pick?"

Quinn's smile grew as she watched Santana react to her, knowing that the ball was in her court. She relished the feeling of power that settled into her gut; she wanted Santana, and now, she knew that the feeling was unmistakably mutual.

"She chose the path of public relations." Quinn sipped her scotch and shook her head in amusement at Santana's perplexed expression. "What? Not a bad girl kinda job?"

Santana grinned. "I assumed secret agent or rock star…something like that." Quinn laughed and its warmth swirled around Santana and settled on her like warm sunlight.

"Nah, too exciting for a _reformed_ bad girl. Pink haired Quinn might have done those things, though." They shared a smile again, one that conveyed a common desire. "So…" Quinn began, more to shake them from the intensity of the moment than anything. "Are you a homicide detective like Jane?"

Santana was going to respond—she had every intention to do so—but Quinn decided to sip her drink at that moment, and an errant drop of scotch fell to her bottom lip. The tip of her tongue eked out to catch it, and Santana was immediately hypnotized. A whirlwind of thoughts about what that tongue could do to her flooded her mind. It required every available ounce of willpower to restrain the whimper that was begging to escape her mouth.

She wondered how one small, seemingly insignificant gesture could send her arousal careening out of control and produce a rush of wetness between her legs. But, there it was—one lick of a bottom lip, and Santana knew it was only a matter of time before she would be doing things with the reformed bad girl that would surprise even herself.

The reaction wasn't lost on Quinn. She looked at Santana with rapt fascination, seeing various hints of emotions sweeping across her beautiful features. It was Santana's milk chocolate eyes that betrayed her—they transformed from warm brown into midnight black. Quinn's nerves jumped to the edges of her skin. She ached to touch Santana—_needed_ to lazily trace that tendon in Santana's neck with her tongue, _had_ to tangle her fingers in that long, flowing hair, _craved_ to feel Santana's lips against her own flushed skin.

That simple, banal question still hung between them, and Quinn wanted to swat it away like the annoying pest that it was. Santana moved as if to answer it, but Quinn stopped her by standing up then tucking a stray strand of hair behind Santana's ear. "Wanna get out of here?" Quinn asked in a raspy whisper, her fingers trailing down Santana's jaw and her eyes dropping from soulful eyes to full lips that she couldn't wait to taste. Santana didn't hesitate; she popped up from the bar stool and grabbed Quinn's hand, pulling her towards the exit. They walked into the crisp Boston evening air, still not exchanging a word. Anticipation and desire encircled them as they disappeared into the night.

Back inside the bar, the bartender looked on as Jane and Maura watched the other two women leave. She grinned knowingly as Jane clinked her glass with Maura's.

_Fin_.


End file.
